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Thomas A. Swatek


Eyes: As windows to another plain of existence, dark and full of answers to questions not yet revealed. Pupils that look not upon flesh, but into the recesses of the unconscious to conquer the deepest of dragons.

Voice: Words, sounds, a melody that plays to unworthy ears, in indescribable harmony that challenges the angels on the most ready of days.

Movement: As heavenly spirits move effortlessly on the wind, so the movement flows across the room as if to never break the barrier between heaven and earth.

Lips, 1: Such soft warm petals give the kiss of life, breathed into a soul that has yet to feel existence. As warm flesh touches flesh, heat and electricity exchange, charging the vacant soul to life.

Lips, 2: Like the chill of a mountain stream, tossed playfully on naked skin. Breathtaking and exhilarating to the depths of ones’ very soul.

Face: To gaze upon such a creature as to not have words to describe, as measured by the vast unknown of the universe. And to conceive that one such as I could begin to rightfully name the stars according to their measure. Not I. Not even a man. Perhaps not even the gods.